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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795034">kiss with a fist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iisrafel/pseuds/iisrafel'>iisrafel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Miragehound, the singular entity [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Apex Legends (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, flirtin while fightin'</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:53:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iisrafel/pseuds/iisrafel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot slowly begins to notice that Bloodhound has stopped shooting him during games. It takes him way longer than it should to figure out why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Miragehound, the singular entity [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. p20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It happens fast; too fast really, for Elliot to be anything close to useful. One moment, he’s fumbling to get into his pack to grab the medkit he picked up earlier in the game, the next, Pathfinder is sprawled on the dirt in front of him, chest nothing but mangled metal where Octane’s rapid fire bullets rained down on him.</p><p>Elliot presses up against the rock he’s hiding behind - as if that stops the familiar orange pulse from seeing him. His fingers tighten around the glock in his hand. It’s only got three bullets left, so he’s as good as dead anyway.</p><p>And it’s not like he’ll die for good, but knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less. </p><p>“Hostiles, Hound?” Octane’s voice cuts through the air, dangerously close. “We didn’t get them all did we?” </p><p>Elliot can’t make out whatever is said in reply over the echo of the arena broadcast announcing a new kill leader. </p><p>“You still got that snipe?” Octane continues. “Watts got knocked. I’m gonna see if I can get her to the beacon.” </p><p>“I will be watching,” Bloodhound says, even closer to Elliot’s hiding spot than Octane was. Octane makes some sort of affirmative noise and then rushes off - Elliot watches his shadow flit across the rocks heading down the hill. </p><p>Static crackles in his earpiece, suddenly, and Bangalore, suddenly, “Mirage! I’ve got eyes on Bloodhound, hold their attention if you can!”</p><p>A sharp movement to his left, quick footsteps, the snap of reloading bullets. Fuck.</p><p>“H-h-how!” Elliot manages through a strangled whisper.</p><p>A shadow looms over him and suddenly Bloodhound is there, Alternator aimed at Elliot’s chest. A Longbow on their back.</p><p>“Self-revive!” Bangalore shouts. “I’m reloading! Do you not have a gun? Shoot them!”</p><p>“Where the fuck are you?” Elliot shouts back. Bloodhound’s head tilts to the side, the little tassels on their helmet knock together like bells. </p><p>“You are no coward,” Bloodhound says. </p><p>“Up!” Bangalore answers. “Distraction, now!”</p><p>Elliot looks up and spams his duplicates out to swarm towards Bloodhound. They hesitate, startled by the flurry of movement. Bangalore is above them, bodily leaning over the cliff face, fifty feet up, Peacekeeper aimed down.<br/>
Bloodhound looks up, too, arm rising instinctively. Elliot squeezes his eyes shut. </p><p>Three pops, one large, echoing crack, a thud. </p><p>“Fuck, Mirage,” Bangalore’s voice crackles through the earpiece again. “I’m down. Wattson and Octane on me. Don't think they know your six yet.”</p><p>A groan to his left. Elliot scrambles to his feet, eyes wide.</p><p>Bloodhound looks up at him, from where they’re curled up on the ground. Blood pours out of a jagged gash in their mask. Their helmet is knocked to the side, skull cap torn wide open, and the mask itself is split along one eyebrow. One of their optics’ glass is shattered and the other is cracked. One gloved hand pressed up against the mouthguard. Elliot has a moment to take it in, dark hair, matted in blood, a deep gash across the brow, extending down the cheek, one pale eye, wide in fear. </p><p>Bloodhound growls when they notice Elliot staring, and then they launch themselves at him, foregoing all usual Apex etiquette, it seems, to strangle him on the spot. The eye Elliot can see flashes red. The mask’s mouthpiece hinges open, revealing their mouth twisted into a feral snarl. </p><p>Elliot yelps, caging one arm over his head and ducking. Bloodhound’s fists beat into him, one at his chest, the other trying for his head. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Elliot says, for some reason. “I didn’t mean to look!”</p><p>The arena broadcast announces the kill leader has fallen, and then another echoes out that there are five squads left. </p><p>Bloodhound screeches, a bloodcurdling, shrill thing that has Elliot reeling and their fists turn to claws, catching and pulling and tearing at Elliot’s shields and armor. He’s seen Bloodhound go feral, racing to opponents, gunning them down and tearing through their shields before, but it’s never been like this. Never this wild.</p><p>He, belatedly, remembers the P20 clutched in his hand and he wedges it between them, shoving it up against Bloodhound’s chin. Their teeth click sharply as their jaw snaps shut, teeth bared. They stop wailing on him, as if the metal of the gun has frozen them solid. They push a breath out through their teeth and smoke, <em>smoke</em>, curls out of their mouth. They glare at him - their lone eye rimmed red and glowing. </p><p>What? <em>What?!</em></p><p>Their glare is quickly turned from Elliot to something above them, and they scramble away from him, pulling what remains of their mask back over their face. </p><p>Elliot looks up to see a spectator drone, hovering. Elliot’s stomach drops when he notices the red blinking light near the camera lense. Above them, projected against the sky, is a blurry, flickering holocast of what the drone sees: </p><p>Mirage standing over a bloody, downed Bloodhound with a hole in their mask. Bloodhound will get swarmed by the press after the game ends. They both will.</p><p>Without thinking, he shoots the drone down. He’ll get the damages taken out, but right now it doesn’t matter much. He’s already considered this game a lost cause. Besides, shooting down a drone will get the press fired up just as much as Bloodhound’s broken mask.</p><p>He pulls out a medkit and crouches in front of Bloodhound. They growl at him, and he kind of wants to shove the kit needle first into their neck, but instead yanks on their arm and follows safety protocols. </p><p>Bloodhound’s growl fades and so does the glow of their eye. They clench their hand into a fist, but they don’t try to pull away. And then, quietly, “Hostiles are nearby.”</p><p>Elliot looks up at them sharply. It’s odd to hear their voice without the moderator. It’s even more odd that it doesn’t really sound all that different. Just less mechanical. </p><p>“One, near the survey beacon,” Bloodhound continues, not looking at Elliot, one visible eye flitting across the battlefield behind him. The gash across their eye slowly stitches together as the medkit beeps. “Two more east, near a loot drop.”</p><p>“Lifeline?” Elliot asks, capping the medkit and tossing it aside. </p><p>“It would seem,” Bloodhound looks at Elliot then, single grey eye, now completely devoid of red, pinning him in place, mouth twisted into a frown. They notice him looking and jerk the broken mask up, back over their face. They have to hold it closed, though, and their eye is still visible. </p><p>“I’ve got something for that,” Elliot says, he digs in his pocket and pulls out a hair tie. “Wattson,” he shrugs. “Won’t hold long but this game’s almost through.” He tosses it at Bloodhound.</p><p>They don’t catch it. They just stare at him, unnervingly. </p><p>“I’m gonna go now,” Elliot says, forcing a laugh. “Got some squads left to, uh, bamboozle.”</p><p>Bloodhound says nothing.</p><p>“Don't shoot me in the back as I walk away, okay?” Elliot stands, wincing as Bloodhound fires another glare in his direction. “Great! Good talk!"</p><p>And he walks away. Quickly. Bullets don’t pierce through his back, but Bloodhound does land a solid punch to his jaw five minutes later, claiming the win, mask held together by a single pink hair tie.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. re45</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Octane wants to go to the Train Yard, because of course he does. Something about being bored, or whatever. Bangalore rolls her eyes at him, but gets a small grin on her face, so Elliot knows she’s not going to suggest a different drop point. </p>
<p>About seven other squads have the same idea, if the multicolored trails of smoke chasing them have anything to say about it. Elliot spams a few decoys as he lands, shooting them out in various directions. </p>
<p>“Enemy spotted!” Octane laughs as soon as he hits the ground.</p>
<p>“Taking fire,” Bangalore shouts a few seconds later. </p>
<p>Elliot hasn’t even found a gun yet, so he bolts into the nearest building, stomach flipping when he hears footsteps on the other side. He manages to snag a RE-45, just as the other person rounds the corner.</p>
<p>At first, the Mozambique aimed at his face is all Elliot sees, but then the gun is lowered and Elliot gets a brief glimpse of wide-lensed, red tinted optics before he unloads the entire 45 clip into Bloodhound’s chest and then punches them square in the masked face. </p>
<p>Bloodhound drops immediately with a grunt and a bitten off curse, golden knockdown shield firing up around them. </p>
<p>“Mirage, you got any hostiles?” Bangalore shouts. He can hear the racket of another firefight somewhere off to his left.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he blurts, “I mean, n-no!” He crouches, peeking over the window as someone decked out in bright yellow stripes rushes past towards the vault tunnel. “All good here, yep!”</p>
<p>Bloodhound triggers their self-revive, jamming the adrenaline shot into their chest. Elliot has a fleeting, faint, idea that what he’s doing is a very bad thing, in the eyes of sportsmanship and game etiquette and some other thing that Bangalore will chew him out for later, and he hopes to all that is holy that there isn’t another spectator drone floating around. He fishes a syringe out of his pack and tosses it to the ground in front of Bloodhound.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says. “Didn’t realize it was you.”</p>
<p>Bloodhound picks up the syringe and uses it instantly, but their optics are trained on Elliot’s face. Blank, of course. They’re just goggles. Intimidating, unreadable goggles. </p>
<p>“It is the way of the games,” they finally say, tossing the used syringe to the side and rising, steadily to their feet, checking their Mozambique. They’re also very pointedly not aiming the gun at him, despite the fact they are on opposing squads and it’s the way of the games.</p>
<p>Elliot frowns at them. “But you didn’t shoot me.”</p>
<p>“Mirage,” Octane’s voice crackles in his ear, loud enough that Bloodhound can definitely hear it. “We got a vault key, where are you, man?”</p>
<p>Bloodhound makes a noise that doesn’t translate well through the modulator - something between a snort and a sigh. They step towards him, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Go catch up with your squad, Mirage.”</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“Go,” they say, and Elliot swears he can hear the smile in their voice. He could be imagining it, though. He could be imagining Bloodhound - <em>Bloodhound</em> - smiling at him. “And pray we do not meet again this game, <em>felagi</em>.”</p>
<p>“That a threat, Hound?” He can’t help it, call it a defense mechanism if you like. </p>
<p>Bloodhound makes that noise again, and this time, Elliot is pretty sure it’s a laugh. Which, honestly is pretty unexpected, considering, but he wants to hear it again. Maybe without the modulator and over a couple of beers. </p>
<p>He’s shoved, bodily, into the open by Bloodhound, who scoops up a stray box of light ammo and tosses it at him. He barely manages to catch it as Bangalore’s authoritative voice cuts through the air.</p>
<p>“Mirage!” She doesn’t quite yell, but it’s something close, and he winces. “Ring’s closin’.”</p>
<p>“Comin’!” he tells her, reloading and turning to see where she’s pinged - somewhere far away. God, and he doesn’t even have a second gun yet.<br/>
When he turns back to wish Bloodhound better luck for the rest of the game, they’re gone. </p>
<p>He never manages to quite catch up with Bangalore and Octane after that. Always a hundred meters back, just shy of whatever action they manage to find themselves in. He does find a Triple Take and a fairly decent scope, so he’s not completely useless near the end when three squads converge on Sorting. </p>
<p>He knocks a shield off Gibraltar, headshots Pathfinder, and shoots three times at Wraith but just can’t seem to catch her. Then, suddenly, Bloodhound appears in the scope, optics gleaming red, charging forward with an animalistic frenzy.</p>
<p>It’s a gut reaction, to swivel, just a tad to the left, and knock the opponent they’re after to the ground. Bloodhound jerks around, following the trail of his bullets, unmoving - an easy target - eerily still as they watch him aim a sniper in their direction.</p>
<p>Elliot wills himself to pull the trigger, to do his job, when a fourth squad rushes him from behind and he’s downed too far away from his team for a revive.</p>
<p>Not a great game, but it’s not the worst either.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>idk how many of these there will be // these are based off of the times i become friends with An Enemy during a match</p></blockquote></div></div>
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